Nothing Personal
by whatdoyoumeanionlygetoneotp
Summary: A series of johnlock shorts inspired by lyrics in All Time Low songs. (Like I used the lyrics as prompts, you don't have to like atl or anything...) So named because 'Nothing Personal' is one of the best albums to ever grace the earth. Serious fluff (does get more intense later but not at all explicit) with a bit of H/C. Rated T for kissing and swears. ART: magicbear. tumblr. com
1. Daydeam away

**You're just a daydream away,****  
****I wouldn't know what to say if I had you,****  
****And I'll keep you a daydream away,****  
****Just watch from a safe place so I never have I lose.**

Sherlock is sitting by the window today, mixing it up to keep from boredom. The early spring light reflected in blue eyes. I say blue eyes, but they're not really blue. They're a unique and beautiful blend of thunderstorm grey, moss green, deep ocean, tropical aqua, speckled with flecks of gold. A kaleidoscope of colour. They made me almost ashamed of my own dull grey irises. His head turns and our eyes meet. Shit, he's caught me staring. Again. I hurriedly look away, blushing furiously. What is wrong with me?!

We're walking, side by side, away from the yellow and black tape and their sneering faces. He extends his pale violinist's fingers,  
"Take my hand." I don't hesitate; why would I? My stubby fingers slip into his like they were made from a corresponding mould, his long thumb resting on the back of my hand, stroking the skin.  
"I still don't understand, how on earth did you know it was the gardener?!"  
He sighs exasperatedly, "earring John."  
"I didn't see an earring!"  
"Of course you didn't. You're an idiot."  
"I'm your idiot." I squeeze his hand, almost playfully. Where was all this confidence coming from?

It's a long taxi ride, I can't stop my eyelids from drooping and my only relief is to lean against his bony shoulder.  
"Tiered?" he chuckles.  
"Yeah..."  
"We're nearly there."

He has to half carry me up the stairs; I'm almost falling over with lack of sleep.  
"John do you think you could manage for just two minutes nineteen seconds?"  
"Probably not..." I mumble.  
He sighs, pushing me ahead of my, fingers still intertwined with mine.

He almost drops me onto the bed, or maybe I just collapsed? I'm exhausted. We haven't stopped to sleep since this case started. Even with my eyes closed I can picture him, he leans over and pulls the sheet across, tucking it in on the other side, securing me in the material.  
"Will you sleep now?"  
I can barely whisper "yeah..." before I drop my head to the pillow. "What 'bout you?"  
"I'm not tiered."  
"That's ridiculous, that's completely... utterly ridiculous..."  
"Go to sleep John."  
I'm going to ask when he's going to sleep (if at all), if he's going to be joining me anything tonight, but I can't. I fall asleep before I can even open my mouth.

He's still looking at me, his piercing gaze boring right into my very soul. I bite my lip unconsciously, just a daydream. And I have to keep it that way, I wouldn't have a clue what to do. Just a daydream.


	2. Six feet under the stars

**In the cold you look so fierce, but I'm warm enough****  
****Because the tension's like a fire****  
****We'll hit South Broadway in a matter of minutes****  
****And like a bad movie, I'll drop a line****  
****Fall in the grave I've been digging myself****  
****But there's room for two****  
****Six feet under the stars**

Six feet under the Stars - So wrong it't right

* * *

"For the last time Sherlock, where are we going?!"  
"For the last time, it's a surprise!"  
"Can I at least take the blindfold off?"  
"No!" the impenetrable fabric of his slightly itchy scarf means all I can see is blackness and I have to admit it's a bit disconcerting. The only support, the only guidance is his hand in mine. Cold, but confident. Without my eyes to guide me my other senses kick in; I think I'm walking on grass, the tell-tale swish of the blades and the dew dampening my trousers gives it away. Crickets (I think anyway, I was never much of a naturalist) are chirping somewhere to my left. From the wind's melancholy whistles and the bending of fast shedding trees it must be somewhere open, the park?

"Ok..." we've stopped walking, finally. Sherlock's hand leaves mine and the scarf lifts off my eyes; as he removes it his fingers brush against my face. His own fills my vision as I blink and try to take in my surroundings. Once I can look past his perfect features, I can confirm it is the park, but it looks completely different. Lit only by moonlight and the few twinkling stars, the atmosphere was no longer claustrophobic and clammy, it's freeing, calm. A small rug is laid out of the damp grass ahead of us, our in the open with a perfect view of the night sky. A wash of navy, purple and black dotted with tiny specks of white.  
"Wow, Sherlock... What's the occasion?"  
He shrugs, "no occasion. I just thought it would look nice tonight."  
"I thought it wasn't important?" I grin.  
"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it. And who better to appreciate it with than you."  
I feel the predictable pink glow spreading over my cheeks. He's already walking over to the fraying cloth he's brought and settling himself on it; I realise quite how small it is as I approach.  
"Shuffle up?"  
He obeys but I'm still close, almost curled up against his purple clad torso. How he can be warm enough without his coat done up is beyond me, even now I'm starting to shiver a little.  
"Cold?"  
"Not really, just wish I'd brought an extra layer."  
He puts one arm round my shoulders and pulls me closer still, if that's possible.  
"So, besides the temperature which isn't my fault, what do you think of my surprise?"  
I gaze upwards at the collections of minuet diamonds, even in the heart of the city you can make out the constellations clearly.  
"It's beautiful." and I mean it.  
"I was thinking you could tell me about it."  
I laugh at this, "tell you, Mr 'the solar system isn't important, it doesn't make a difference' Holmes about the constellations?!"  
"I didn't say I would remember it!"  
"Alright, alright." I wrack my brains for any remaining cub scouts astronomy. "Um, well that's the saucepan..."  
"The what?!"  
"The saucepan, or the ladle or whatever. If you're going to keep interrupting..."  
"I won't, I promise."  
"Right, and the, if you follow those two at the end upwards in a straight line, you can find the north star."  
"Where?" he's squinting, eyes darting about trying to locate it.  
"Here..." my stomach filling with butterflies, I take his hand and point upwards to the polestar.  
"Oh," he smiles proudly, like he's solved a particularly difficult case. I can't help but grin at the expression up upmost smugness and victory.  
Our hands slowly lower, my fingers around his thin wrist. Sherlock's head turns to mine yet again and I can't help being sucked into his chiselled features. Features that are slowly getting nearer mine...

* * *

Weird ending but there you go. Review please? :D


	3. If these sheets were the states

**If theses sheets were the states and you were miles away,****  
****I'd fold them end over end,****  
****To bring you closer to me,****  
****Because I don't sleep at all without you pressed up against me,****  
****I settle for long distance calls,****  
****I'm lost in empty pillow talk again.**

**If these sheets were the states - Nothing Personal**

* * *

I miss him. There, I said it. I miss the warmth of his body against mine, I miss our legs intertwining under the thin sheets, I miss his short fingers running through my hair. The bed seems strangely large without him, an island of feather down, with little else but memories of him on the memory foam. He's gone to Sarah's. I've decided I don't like Sarah.

Sometimes he has nightmares and wakes up screaming, but usually he just writhes around groaning, I can almost hear the inner dialogue as he mutters in his sleep. If he doesn't wake I just roll over and wrap my arms around him, whispering  
"I'm here, you're safe." that's usually enough, but once or twice he's been more difficult to subdue. There was the night he had some sort of fit, night terrors. That took a lot of coaxing and hair stroking to fix, I lost half a nights sleep.

But I miss it. I've been lying awake here for hours, I can't sleep at all. Not without his body pressed up against mine; a perfect fit, almost like a jigsaw puzzle. I never liked jigsaw puzzles. I wish he'd come back, I didn't tell him before he left and now I'm worried. I don't get worried. This is ridiculous. I make a mental note, pool my thoughts, trying to find a way to tell John Watson he makes me better everyday.


	4. Thanks to you

**Thanks to you for all the nightmares,**  
**There's not a a night that I sleep quiet and complacent,**  
**Without my medication**

Thanks to you - Don't Panic

* * *

I'm drowning, struggling, kicking out, trying desperately to free myself. Tangled in knotted sheets, writhing. He's falling and its all a horrific blur and someone's screaming. Who's screaming?  
My eyes fly open as I realise it's me, I'm shaking, shivering, sweating. The blankets have almost completely fallen off the bed from all my movement, but I'm still hot. My god, this room's like a furnace! I sit up, burying my head in my moist palms. Oh god. I look to my left at the bedside table, a single, small, surprisingly significant bottle of blue and orange pills.  
They said it would help.

"John," my head snaps round at his low, concerned voice. He's standing in the doorway in his blue silk dressing gown, he's just got out of bed. For me.  
"I'm fine."  
"You're not fine." he's right of course, but I won't admit it.  
"Just go back to bed Sherlock."  
He doesn't respond, so I give up and close my eyes again, pressing the heels of my hands against the lids. Hoping if I can scrunch them tight enough it will stop. Then I hear the creaking of bed springs and ruffling of sheets. I groan. "Just go back to bed, I'm fine..."  
"Oh really?" deductions, although I guess it's hardly difficult to tell I'm not at all 'fine' when the sweat still plasters my hair to my forehead and my limbs are trembling.  
His cold hands reach out and take mine away from my face, encasing them in his pale fingers, curling mine inwards His knees are digging into the small of my back slightly, by I don't care. I can feel his steady breathing on the back of my neck and it's calming. "Another nightmare." it's not a question. After a pause I nod slowly, still looking down at the cascading mass of sheets instead of meeting his gaze. I don't want him to see the salty tear tracks. He sighs and, still gently clasping my hands, wraps his arms around me so that I end up hugging myself as well. Leaning his chin on my slumped shoulder he asks  
"Did you take it?"  
"Of course I did..." I mumble into his sleeve.  
"Don't try to lie to me John, you know it doesn't work."  
"Well, neither do the bloody stupid meds!" I can't help that I'm suddenly almost shouting, "I'm not an invalid!" I'm half expecting him to be offended that I raised my voice at him, I'm half expecting him to talk me into taking the damn pills; I don't really know what I'm expecting but it isn't this. His comforting arms vanish from my sides and I'm alone again for only a split second. Then chilled spindly fingers touch my chin and gently raise my head, turning it to face his. Now I'm looking into the calming blue eyes of my best friend rather than at the floor.  
"I know," he murmurs softly. And then our lips are softly pressed together.

* * *

Thanks for reading, please review, it really helps me improve and motivates me to write more.  
Also, I will take prompts, atl or not, in my inbox or tumblr ask box :)


	5. Walls

**Hey there it's good to see you again,**  
**It never felt right calling this just friends,**  
**I'm happy,**  
**If you're happy, with yourself.**

**I'm gonna break down these walls,**  
**I built around myself,**  
**I wanna fall so in love,**  
**With you and no one else**  
**Could ever mean half as much to me as you do now,**  
**Together we'll move on, just don't turn around,**  
**Let the walls break down.**

Walls - Nothing Personal

* * *

Finally. Thank god this bloody case is over, I'm starving and I'm tiered and I'm sick of the staring and the stupid comments. We're not a couple. We're just not. But I have to admit a part of me wishes we were...

"Want anything?" I ask as we return to our bomb site of a flat. Jesus its cold out there.  
"I'll get it."  
"What?!" to say I'm shocked is an understatement, "you'll, get, what?!"  
"You want tea. I'll make tea." he looks slightly offended at my incredulous impression. "What? You're tiered, I'm not. Is that not what friends do?"  
"Yes, yeah I guess so..." smiling (rather suspiciously, to be honest I don't know if I quite trust him not to drug it again.) he grabs my shoulders and plonks me down into my favourite chair. "Ever heard of personal space..." I mutter, but there's a warm feeling spreading from where his hands made contact.

"Here," the hot porcelain is welcome on my still shivering fingers.  
"Thanks..."  
He's sees my hesitation, "it's not drugged. I promise."  
Grinning like an idiot I take a sip. It's surprisingly good, I can't believe remembered I take milk but no sugar. To anyone else it probably seems like nothing, my best friend remembers my tea preferences; but this is Sherlock Holmes, the man who doesn't think the earth going around the sun deserves a place in his memory. And that means that to Sherlock Holmes, I am more important than the whole solar system. Now that's a compliment. "Did I get it right?" he's like a nervous school child handing in a paper; I have to resist the urge to go all teacher and say 'I don't know, did you?'  
"Yes, you did good."  
"I did well."  
"Oh for god's sake, Sherlock it's too late for grammar!"  
"It's never too late..." and his piercing X-ray stare makes my irritation melt away. He did make tea after all...  
"I still don't understand how you solved it..."  
"Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever's left, however improbable must be true."  
"I still don't get..."  
"Of course you don't, you're an idiot."  
"But my tea preferences are still more important than the solar system..?" I mutter.  
"Of course." he's heard me and his response makes me look up.  
"Really?"  
He shrugs, "you're my best friend, and what you do immediately affects my life. The movements of the planets don't."  
I can't help but blush. But there's that word again, friend. I don't want to be friends, I want to be so much more. But I can't say it.  
"Friends?"  
"Sorry?" he's confused, and no wonder, I'm confused and I've lost count of my failed relationships. He's got no experience, nothing to compare it to.  
"We're friends."  
"Of course."  
"What if we were more than friends?" the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, tumbling over each other so the sentence sort of slurs together.  
After a tense pause he tilts his head to one side, "I don't understand..." oh crap. I've really put my foot in it now; with anyone else those seven words would have meant something, caused either an immediate rejection or acceptance. But they don't mean anything to him.  
"Um," I genuinely can't think of anything to say to explain it, so I edge slowly off my chair and over to him. His head turns, deep eyes fixed on my face, fingertips pressed together. I sort of hover for a few seconds, before the voice in my head says 'fuck it, what's the worst that could happen?' and I kiss him. It's only a few seconds, I don't even open my mouth. Then we break apart, well, I pull away. He hasn't moved, he's still staring at me.  
Oh god.  
My beating heart echoes in my ears. Breathing heavily, I drop my eyes to the floor, biting my lip guiltily.  
"What was that?"  
"I'm sorry..."  
"But what was that?"  
"Uh, an experiment? I don't know exactly..."  
"I see... What was your hypothesis?"  
"Oh god, I don't know!"  
And I don't. I don't know what I was thinking, I should never have...  
"You know, for the most reliable results, experiments should be repeated..."  
My head snaps up to look at him.  
"What?"  
"If you want to gather reliable results, you should repeat your experiment."  
"Really?"  
He smirks, "for science."  
And that's all the invitation I need. Pressing our lips together, sliding next to him onto the arm of the chair, running my fingers through the charcoal curls.  
"You're happy with this?" I murmur between breaths.  
"If you're happy, why wouldn't I be"  
"Well just to clarify, this is what I mean by more than friends."  
"Oh, interesting."  
That makes me stop, I pull away for longer this time.  
"I'm interesting?"  
"Of course."  
Of course. Of course I'm interesting. It's not something I would have ever said about myself, but then I never thought anyone would want me as a flat mate. I never thought I'd end up kissing my best friend. I never thought I'd be mean more to someone than the entire solar system. But here I am. And it's perfect.

* * *

So this is my last upload before i go on holiday for a week, so savour it :) review?


	6. The beach

Well, you're a long walk from my street  
And I'm dying in this summer heat  
I hope like hell you're waiting, waiting

Everybody's living like they're crazy in love  
I'm a dizzy mess and everything is so above me  
From the floor I found the life I lead today

Well they can take, take, take the kids from the summer  
But they'll never, never, never take the summer from me  
It was the very first time that I lost my mind for the week  
They can't make, make, make me forget the weather  
If I never, never, never wash the sand from my feet  
It was the very last time, then we said goodbye to the beach

"I don't understand, why are we at the beach?"  
"Sherlock you have to at least pretend to be surprised!"  
"Hardly difficult deduction."  
"Ok well I guess you can open your eyes now then..."  
Sherlock opened his eyes, it took a few seconds to adjust to the light. A soft pinkish glow hovered above the horizon, the low sun causing odd reflections on the rippling water. The small, late evening waves gently lapped at the cool, almost mid like sand. Even now, when the sun was almost beginning to set, seagulls cawed and squawked overhead; occasionally diving down to scoop up an unsuspecting fish or discarded sandwiches. It was relatively warm, for British summer, but a chilly evening breeze carried the salty sea air up the beach and ruffled his hair. It smelt like salt and damp and food and birds, the kind of smells that are almost tangible. In the distance the low cliffs rose above the seemingly endless expanse of sand, iced with dry grass and topped with a sprinkling of heather.  
"So...?"  
"So what?"  
"What do you think?"  
"It's the beach..."  
"Look, I could have said 'it's just the stars' but I didn't did I?! I thought it might be nice."  
"Nice to do what?"  
"Well," John looked incredulous at having to respond to this question, he'd taken plenty of dates to the beach and not one had ever asked why. "Go for a walk, go in the sea, talk. And I was thinking, since you said you'd never seen a sunset, what better place than up there?" he gestured to the cliff tops.  
"You want me to walk along the beach, in the sea, talking, and then watch the sun?"  
"Well, yeah... but it sounded more fun when I said it..." he bent down, removing his shoes and knotting the laces together.  
"What are you doing?" hanging them around his neck, John simply grinned and set off, barefoot, to the waters edge.

"Come on, Sherlock, it's fine, you only have to go in a bit..." called John as he almost skipped through the shallows, his trousers rolled halfway up his calves, shoes and socks still dangling round his neck.  
"It's cold and wet and there's no point."  
"You're such a..." but Sherlock never found out exactly what he was because instead he received a cold wash of water over his lower legs.  
"Hey!"  
John's face was red from laughter.  
"It is not funny!"  
"Yeah it is!"  
"I'm wet now!"  
"Well why on earth did you were a suit to the beach?!"  
"Why did you splash me?!"  
"Um, ever heard of flirting? And because you were being annoying."  
"What am I supposed to do now?!"  
"Look, I'll get it..." striding through the slightly murky water, John squatted down and attempted to roll up Sherlock's ridiculously impractical trousers. "Will you just hold... Ow!" a cold wave of salt water suddenly hit him full in the face. "Sherlock!"  
But it was the detective's turn to laugh. "You can't kick a man while he's down! I was trying to help you! God I hate you so much right now! I'm soaked!" he was. The water had sloshed all down his front and the heavy knit absorbed it perfectly. Sherlock's baritone chuckles still filled the otherwise silent beach. "Stop laughing! You do realise I'm going to have to take this off and dry it now?!"  
"I don't mind."  
"I know you don't!"  
Still fuming but struggling not to join with his friend's infectious laughter, John pulled off his jumper and undid the buttons of his sopping shirt. "Don't you dare laugh..."

"I'm cold now."  
"I'm sorry..."  
"No you're not."  
"No, I'm not."  
As the sun drew nearer to the horizon the two of them made there way slowly over to the cliffs; their bare feet sinking slightly into the damp sand, their sides pressed together and hands clasped. The breeze still persisted in its feeble attempts to affect their course, and the tempreture had dropped a little. "You can have my coat of you want?"  
"Why did you even bring a coat? It's June!"  
"It's Britain. Do you want it or not?"  
"Please."  
Removing the thick black over clay and draping it round his companions shoulders, Sherlock smiled and took a former grip on johns hand.  
"So we're walking up there?"  
"Yeah."  
"To look at the sun?"  
"To watch the sunset. Very different."  
"It is?"  
"Very, look just go open minded and I'm sure of its too boring we can figure something out."  
"It won't be boring."  
"Are you sure?" the surprise and hint of sarcasm in John's voice was obvious.  
"Well looking at the stars with you wasn't and the sun is just another star only closer so..."  
"I love or when you go all science-y."  
"What on earth do you mean?"  
"You know, when... Oh I give up you're impossible." he shoulder barged the taller man playfully.  
"Improbable."  
"Shut up."


	7. Let it roll

Out here the hills roll on for miles,  
The sun is like my own sense of direction,  
I'm always draw to each horizon  
When it rises, when it sets  
And all I can think about is sex

The last of the suns light radiated from edge of the sea, a soft glow in peach and apricot that made everything it touched seem almost unearthly but somehow more beautiful. Up on the cliff top the wind was stronger, a resilient, buffeting force that seemed determined to ruin our evening. I sighed, closing my eyes briefly as I pushed myself deeper into his chest. Usually I hate being short, but this is one advantage: being the perfect fit. My head just comes to under His chin, our bodies like matching moulds; every ridge and valley, every change, every undulation mirrored exactly in the other.  
I was tiered, it had been long day at the clinic. Just general work stuff, nothing out of the ordinary, but I was glad to get away from it all. As the sun sank lower and lower my eyelids began to follow suit, drooping as I ran my hands through the deep purple heather. The same colour as his shirt.  
"Tiered?"  
"Bit."  
"Work?"  
"Yeah."  
"Tell me."  
I shrugged as I shredded more purple leaves, "it's nothing, I'm just glad it's over for the day. Now shhh, you're going to miss the best bit!"  
He obeyed, turning his attention back to the setting sun.  
Three.  
Two.  
One.  
And then it was fully submerged beneath the waves until tomorrow. Darkness breathed a sigh of relief and seemed to come out of its waiting room for the treat of the night.  
"I love sunsets," I said "beautiful."  
"Beautiful." he agreed. But when I turned, smiling, to look at him again, I saw that his eyes weren't on the now glow free horizon but fixed on my face. I blushed furiously.  
"Why are you looking at me like that?"  
"Like what?"  
"You're doing a look..."  
"No I'm not, it's just my face!"  
"I don't believe you..." I muttered.  
"I love you."  
"I love you too," I smiled, "do you ever plan that or just say it randomly?"  
He shrugged, "Whenever I want to." wrapping one arm tighter around my shoulder he continued, "you have nice eyes."  
That made me laugh, mainly because it's so out of character. "Been reading up on compliments have you?"  
"No, I just like them. What's wrong with that?"  
"Nothing, just, they're only grey. Boring. Not like yours." I turned to look him straight in his own piercing blue eyes, he smiled.  
"I like grey."  
And suddenly I've decided I do to. I'm not particularly insecure, well, not really, but I'm always happier of everyone else is too. I aim to please, and if dull grey is good enough for him, it's good enough for me. Grinning like an idiot, I bring one arm up behind his head, winding my fingers into the dark ringlets.  
"So you liked the sunset?"  
"I get the impression I would have enjoyed it a lot less without you."  
"I think that's the idea," I grin, pushing his head lower so I can plant a kiss on his forehead.  
"Are you still cold?" his concern is touching, he never normally checks up on things like this.  
"Bit." I pause before continuing, "you want to go back?"  
"Yes." then he smiles again, "I'm assuming you're going to be cold at night too..."  
"Yes, I'll sleep on your bed, you only have to ask."  
"You always say I can't just ask for stuff, you said 'don't be abrupt, fit it into the conversation'."  
"Yeah but this different, relationships are better simple. Plus, I already know how socially challenged you are, I'm not easily surprised anymore." I nudge him playfully in the ribs; he ignores me.  
"So you will?"  
"Of course."  
We stand in unison, hands still linked, and head back the way we came; the offshore spring breeze ruffling his hair, the sand squeezing between our toes, the first stars peeping out from behind the clouds. It's a peaceful and content atmosphere and the prospect of another perfect night raises my spirits even more.


	8. For Baltimore

**I bet you never thought you would fall again**  
**So much for keeping this just friends**  
**Shut up and kiss me now**

**For Baltimore - **Don't Panic

heya guys, this is just something short (no shit) I wrote using only dialogue. I liked how John Green did this in an Abundance of Katherine's so I thought I'd try it, it might be a bit confusing idk. Please tell me what you think because I'm not sure...

* * *

"Why the hell is there a head in the fridge?!"  
"I put it there."  
"Why did you out a bloody head in the fridge Sherlock?!"  
"It's an experiment. I'm measuring the collection on saliva..."  
"I don't care what you're measuring! There's a head in the fridge!"  
"I know, you don't have to keep repeating yourself John."  
"You know what? I am sick and tired of coming home from work, earning the money we need to pay the bloody rent and find all your stupid experiments cluttering up the flat! At least clean up after yourself or don't keep body parts where there's food!"  
"Where else was I supposed to put it?"  
"I don't know! In your bedroom?! At the station, at Bart's?! Anywhere! Buy yourself another fridge, I don't care! As long as its not in the same place as the food!"  
"You boys having a little domestic..?"  
"We're fine, Mrs Hudson..."  
"No, we're not fine Sherlock! I am seriously sick of this! I earn almost all the money that funds this place, and I'd appreciate it of you showed me and the flat a little more respect!"  
"Shall I leave you to it...?"  
"I do treat you with respect."  
"Oh really?! Heads in the fridge, eyeballs in the microwave, drugs in my bloody coffee?!"  
"Those were..."  
"If you say experiments I swear to..!"

"..."

"What was that for?!"  
"You wouldn't shut up."  
"Seriously? That's your solution to an argument?"  
"Worked didn't it?"  
"Why are you so bloody difficult?"  
"Well if you really wanted to know that I supposed you could screen my DNA, analyse my mothers parenting techniques, talk to..."  
"Oh shut up..."

"..."  
"Is that chocolate?"  
"Sarah brought a cake to the office, problem?"  
"No..."  
"Shut up then."

"..."  
"John?"  
"What?"  
"Are you planing on leaving the door open forever?"  
"What?"  
"The door..."  
"Oh crap... Got it."  
"So how was work?"  
"Oh shut up."

"..."

* * *

basically if you didn't get it, they're kissing where there's ellipsis. I'm sure you got that, but then i wrote it. also you kinda have to use your imagination with the different speakers and stuff, I'm really not sure about this one...  
let me know.


	9. Weightless

**Manage me I'm a mess,**  
**Turn a page, I'm a book half unread,**  
**I wanna be laughed at laughed with, just because,**  
**I wanna feel weightless cos that would be enough**

**But I'm stuck in this fucking rut,**  
**Waiting on a second hand pick me up and I'm over**  
**Getting older**  
**If I could just find the time,**  
**Then I would never let another day go by I'm over**  
**Getting old**

**Weightless - Nothing Personal**

* * *

Weak. Worthless. Weightless. That's how it felt, being completely alone. I hadn't talked to anyone properly in week, maybe more than a week; I'd lost track. Time blurred together in a haze of dull days and terror filled nights, a never ending rut of despair. The dreams had got worse and the crippling boredom and dread of the daylight was no better. Crippled. My bloody leg meant I couldn't really leave the flat and do anything even if I wanted to. And I did, part of me did want to get up and about and be active, be reckless. My life was wasting away before my eyes and at this rate I was going to grow old and die alone. I didn't know if I wanted to meet up with old friends, seek work, find new people to be part of my life or not; I wanted someone to laugh with, to talk to, but I couldn't help feeling unwanted, so what was the point in even trying?  
But it got to the point where I really needed a flat mate, and not just for financial reasons. The therapist said I had trust issues, maybe finding someone to trust with a key and half the rent would help. That was when I met Sherlock Holmes.

Two months later and it's completely changed. I can't believe all this has happened so fast - I'm not alone, I'm not crippled, I'm not having night terrors anymore. I see now that it might not have been my time then, but it was certainly my year now. I don't have to pretend people are interested, impressed, I believe it. He's good for me, the adrenaline, the danger, it keeps me interested and satisfied. I'm a soldier, I'm not meant to sit at home, but now I'm actually doing good and I know I've got a true friend by my side. And I think I'm good for him, emotions, compassion, let's just say they're not his strong points, but I think I'm changing that. Slowly, one step at a time. It took a while to realise and divulge my true feelings, but it was worth the wait. I'd never dreamed they'd be requited an I've had some pretty crazy dreams.

Worthwhile. Wanted. Weightless. That's how it feels kissing him. Like there's nothing in the world that makes any difference, nothing else that matters. I always thought the whole 'seeing fireworks' thing was a load of crap, but now I know I've just been kissing the wrong people. I was going mad trapped in there, watching the minutes pass as I went nowhere, but he saved me. In a cringe worthy and extreamley cheesy way, he saved me. I hate to admit it and god sometimes it scares me, but this is my reaction to everything I fear; fear is good. It makes me a better person and I really don't think I could leave even of I wanted to. I'm too in love. Yep, I said it. I love him in all his irritating, aggravating, insane, alien and sociopathic glory. I've finally got what I wanted all this time, to feel as though nothing matters except what makes me happy, to feel weightless.

* * *

**For DrLowriWarson, thanks for the prompt. See guys, I will do them, don't be shy :) Please review x  
**  
**sorry for any spelling errors, I didn't use a word processor so please message me if any thing's wrong. **


	10. Holly (would you turn me on?)

**You are the taste of something sweet,**  
**And I'm tangled in the sheets**

**So when you going to give it up,**  
**You're giving me such a rush**

**Holly (would you turn me on?) - So wrong, it's right**

* * *

I've never shared anything before, mugs, cloths, stationary; let alone my bed. Then again, it's nice, and he doesn't exactly take up much space. All together a successful experiment.  
My eyes are still closed against the harsh morning light poking through the curtains. I groan, and hear a soft chuckle.  
"Morning."  
Still refusing to open my eyes, I mutter "what time is it?"  
"Quarter to seven."  
"Exactly?"  
John laughs again, an amazing sound, it reminds me of a Chopin piece, and it makes me feel warm inside. "It's six forty-seven, your OCD satisfied yet?"  
"I'm not obsessive or compulsive..."  
"Yes you are."  
"I'm not OCD. I just wanted..."  
"Highly functioning sociopath, yeah I know." he grins, "I've done my research."  
The mattress creaks and the warmth of his body and breath is gone; now I open my eyes.  
"Where are you going?!" even though it's only the first time, I feel protective. I don't think I want him to leave.  
"Work. You know, so we can pay the rent?"  
"Dull." But watching him dress isn't. Staring while he yanks in jeans is giving me this unknown sense on euphoria I've only felt before after solving one particularly perplexing case.  
"Yes, but necessary." still with his shirt open fronted he leans over and plants a nervous kiss on my forehead. Suddenly I'm even surer I don't want him to go.  
"Do you have to go now?" I sound like a whiny kid, but I know if I stare at him long enough I'll get what I want.  
"Aww Sherlock," he groans "don't give me the puppy eyes, I have to go."  
"Right this second?" I work my hand up his arm, playing with the soft red fabric.  
"Right this second." to be honest I'm surprised he hasn't caved already. Making one last effort, I start running my fingers through his sandy hair. "Well," ha, I smile, knowing I've won. "I guess I could stay a few minutes..."  
He doesn't get the chance to finish the sentence, my lips block the words from leaving his mouth. And he's winding his fingers into my curls and I'm wrapping my arms around him and before I know it we're back under the covers, intertwined, tangled in the sheets.

* * *

**Yeah, so this one isn't as close to the song lyrics as I'd have liked, but you know, I'm sure you guys don't mind, I mean this is a pretty pain free fluffy story right...?**


	11. I feel like dancin'

**I feel like dancin' tonight,**  
**I'm gonna party like it's my civil right,**  
**It doesn't matter where,**  
**I don't care if people stare,**  
**I feel like dancin' tonight**

I feel like dancin' - dirty work

* * *

The nights nearly over and to be honest I'm glad. I've no idea why Greg decided on having a 'get together' with this many people. I've got work tomorrow and I'm supposed to be the designated driver, Molly and a girlfriend are slumped in a corner with large glasses of wine and we had no idea how Sherlock was going to react to the presence of alcohol, so we're not taking any chances. It's not really been fun; a lot of weaving in and out of drunken sweaty bodies, avoiding the 'have you met John?' conversations and trying to find my way around the large house.  
There's only one thing I really want to do before we leave.

Glancing at my watch, not long until I said we'd leave, I head across the room to where he's standing. Standing alone and apart from the crowd in his customary tight fitting suit, but with a muted purple shirt for the occasion. I'm relieved to see no one's given him a drink.  
"Hey."  
"Hello again."  
"I was just, getting a drink..." but the sentence lapses into awkward silence. Just ask, just do it, it can't be that hard... "I like this song."  
"Really? I detest this modern chart music."  
I laugh, his extreme lack of pop culture knowledge never ceases to amaze me.  
"Sherlock, this is an 80s classic!"  
"You know I don't concern myself with useless knowledge. Besides, I prefer 1800s."  
After a pause I start again, "You really are hopeless."  
"What?!"  
"Even you must know that 'I like this song' is universal code for 'dance with me'!"  
"It is? Interesting."  
I roll my eyes, does he have to be so bloody difficult?!  
"Dance with me."  
He doesn't answer, just stands there looking confused and, for once, out of his depth. I laugh, rolling my eyes again, and take his hands, shuffling backwards into the dancing crowd. I have to admit his 'deer in the headlights' expression amuses me.  
"What do you want me to do?"  
"Just, I don't know, freestyle." god this is difficult, "do you know any dance moves?"  
"I can waltz."  
At this I completely lose it, spluttering and giggling like an immature kid at the hysterical mental image. "You can what?!"  
"My mother paid for dance lessons, Mycroft and I can both waltz."  
The idea of Mycroft sliding round a dance floor in tails is just too much and I collapse onto him in a fit of laughter. It's only a second before we both realise exactly what's happening and pull away.  
"Sorry..."  
"It's fine."  
"Really?"  
"Yes."

The music changes and I hear the mixed reactions to be expected at a cheesy Take That ballad; groans, cheers, people hurrying to pull phones from their pockets, screams of 'ROBBIE!' and Greg's voice shouting 'no lighters!'. It's a slow dance and all around us people are either clearing the dance floor or wrapping themselves around their partners. And we're stuck in the middle.  
"Uh," I mumble, "we can go if..."  
But he interrupts me, "this dance seems a lot more sensible."  
I bite my lip, smiling slightly, "it's a slow dance."  
"What does that entail?"  
"Take a look around and make a deduction."  
It takes a few seconds for him to gently take up my fingers in his and come a few steps closer.  
"Did I get it right?"  
"Close..." I chuckle, slipping my hands free and standing on tiptoe to cross them behind his neck. As he slides his hands around my waist and up my back it's his turn to laugh softly,  
"You're so short..."  
"I am not!"  
"Yes you are."  
"Yeah, well," but I can't think of anything, "you're not supposed to talk."  
He only makes it through one chorus.  
"John this song makes no sense."  
"Sure it does..."  
"'You and me we can ride on a star, if you stay with me we can rule the world?' stars are burning balls of gas and obviously the world is too politically divided to be ruled by a single monarchy."  
"It's a metaphor Sherlock..."  
"Well it's absurd."  
"You're absurd."  
"I love you."  
"Sorry?"  
"You heard me. You're too much of an idiot to play dumb."  
I shake my head disbelievingly, "I love you too but you really are a nightmare!"  
"I'm your nightmare."  
"I don't know how I put up with you..." I mutter, raising myself onto my toes again to kiss him.

* * *

**yes I am aware the song isn't really talking about slow dancing but I wanted slow dancing so there**


	12. Backseat serenade

**Backseat serenade**

He's been gone almost a week, visiting family; the longest we've been apart since the very beginning. I like to think of myself as independent, more than capable of surviving a week alone, it should have been great, not having him around. No violin at three am, no drugs in my coffee. No explosions, no gunshots, no stupid experiments - finally some piece and quiet. But it wasn't. I mean, the first few days it was a blessing, I slept late, I went out and didn't come back to a murder or a mess, but after that I missed him.

Yeah yeah, I know, it's soppy and pathetic and bloody annoying, but its true. I've missed him so much, more than I thought possible. Ive missed having someone around, I've missed having someone to talk to. I've missed surprise hugs from behind while I'm typing, I've missed tangling my hands into his curly mop, I've missed morning kisses and afternoon kisses and goodnight kisses and god I'm sick of sleeping alone.  
But it's ok, because he's coming back today. The train gets in at half three and I'm going to meet him at the station. I haven't told him that, its supposed to be a surprise, but no doubt he's expecting me, I probably let it slip through my choice of shoes or something.

The taxi driver's one of those talkative ones, as soon as I open the door and say 'Paddington station please' he starts the interrogation.  
"Where you headed?"  
I roll my eyes, but try to at least appear interested and sociable when in reality all I can think about is finally getting to see him again. "Uh, I'm not, I'm meeting someone."  
"Special someone?" he asks with a smile.  
"A friend." I answer curtly. I don't really like to lie, but I hate to tell the truth. It just leads to awkwardness; the 'so, what's she like?' 'he' 'oh' structure, or the 'what, you two?' conversation, or 'sorry, I just assumed, you know...' 'it's fine' followed by awkward silene. 'Friend' closes the comversation, 'boyfriend' leaves it hanging.

We pull in at exactly three twenty-six, four minutes. I glance feverishly at the sign, frantic that its delayed. It's not. 'Platform four' I murmur, pushing through the weekend Paddington crowd to get a clear view of the track.  
Three minutes.  
People jostle all around me, back from holidays and weekend breaks ready for the working week to start, parents panicking over pesky children, and those standing alone - like me - waiting for partners to return.  
Two minutes.  
Then comes the announcers voice over a loud speaker, slightly distorted, "the train now approaching platform four is the three thirty service from Manchester. Please change here for Birmingham new street."  
even in that bored monotone, her words bring a broad grin to my face.  
One minute.  
I can here it now, the roar of the diesel engine, the squealing of the brakes, the rhythmical drumming of the wheels on the track, growing louder and louder with every second. The vibrations arrive first in a series of waves, making everything shake: coffee cups on tables, suitcases on the filthy concrete, even people. My whole body is filled with these vibrations, it's as if I can feel my very bones shaking.  
And then the train arrives. A streamlined and aerodynamic but nether the less hunk of metal speeds by so fast I have to take a step back, it's almost as if it's not going to stop at all, but speed on to it's next stop. But it does stop, eventually, with an even louder squeal of the brakes on the tracks, sending sparks flying at the wheels. I stand motionless, waiting for the guard's whistle that means I can approach, under starters orders. There, a single shrill blast cuts the air and the doors open. I strain my neck, cursing my height, and try to catch a glimpse of the familiar dark curls.

"Hello." a soft, husky baritone in my ear.  
I jump, and spin round to pull him into a bone crushing hug, causing him to almost drop his battered suitcase.  
"I missed you."  
At first he's stiff and awkward, but as my fingers grip tighter into his long coat he relaxes, slipping his arms round my waist.  
"I missed you too John, but I thought you didn't like people staring..."  
Crap.  
I let go, blushing furiously. "Yes, right, uh, stop smiling like that!" I scold as he starts to laugh at my discomfort, part of me is indignant but really I don't want him to smile that like because he looks so bloody kissable and I doubt I can't wait much longer.  
He doesn't stop though, simply grins at me even wider, gesturing towards the exit "shall we?"

We managed to get a cab with a solid screen between the driver and the back, thank god. I hate psa but I haven't kissed him or a whole week and it's driving me mad.  
"Two two one b baker street," I say before clambering into the back seat.  
Now we're almost alone.  
"So, how was it?" I'm trying to keep it casual but I can't help linking our fingers now we're out of sight.  
"Horrendous," he shrugs casually, "nothing abnormal."  
I can't help sigh, Sherlock has a poor at best relationship with his parents and a frankly appalling one with his brother. "What happened?" I ask, cuddling closer and leaning on his boney shoulder.  
"Mycroft knows about us and my parents don't. He's been making hints and threatening all week. Not to mention copious amounts of obligatory social events and absolutly nothing of interest."  
I almost feel a little sorry for the rest of the family if Sherlock was as bad as he is at home when he's bored, but I don't say that. "Your parents don't know about us?"  
"No."  
"Why?"  
"Because I haven't told them."  
"Obviously," I say, mimicking his voice. "but why haven't you told them?"  
He doesn't answer for a minute, so I raise my head and give him my best puppy eyes stare. "I, I worry they will disprove."  
"Oh." well I can certainly empathise; my mum was fine, after all, Harry was already married to Clara, but dad not so much. I mean we still speak and were still friends, but i think part of him was desperate to see his son in a nice house with a pretty woman, three children and an apple pie life after he'd given up on Harry. "Well," I start, fiddling with his coat collar, "they're not here now are they?"  
One of the best things about being in a relationship with the worlds only consulting detective is that its almost easy. I don't even have to say anything, it's a mere formality. He knows exactly what I'm thinking right now and although it's usually seen as irritating its a blessing in disguise. As I use the scarf to pull him closer he murmurs in my ear, "driver..."  
"I don't care." and then I kiss him.

Usually I do care, but it's been a week after all! He's had a crappy time and I've had a crappy time and now we're finally back to were we belong - locked together.  
He's usually more hesitant than this, I suppose the separation must have had its effect. Most of the time he's gentle and careful and I'm the one who's eager to go further, messing up his hair and tracing the outline of his lips with my tongue; this time its both of us and I'm loving it. His long violinist's fingers are finding their way into my sandy hair as I wind mine into his curls. I can feel the scarf tickling my neck. He tastes like salt and i absentmindedly wander why, probably crisps on the train. (Sea salted kettle chips are his favourite but he always pretends he's above the mere snacks of us average minded humans.)  
"Crisps?" I ask as I take a breath and he chuckles.  
"Good deduction," he answers between kisses "you're learning."  
That makes me smile and I reward him by breaking away and planting soft kisses along his cheek and jawline.  
He exhales, "you had the last bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes before you came didn't you?"  
"Oh shut up, I bought them." I'm moving down to his neck now, and ripping away the scarf so I can kiss his Adam's apple. Despite the near freezing temperatures outside he smells like summer; strawberries and freshly mown grass and humid air and candy floss and seaweed.  
And I'm awkwardly unplugging my seat belt and pushing him backwards, still kissing, kissing the pain away.

"Two-hundred an twenty-one b baker street." the drivers voice separates us as quickly as if someone had forcibly driven a glass wall between us.  
I can't help but laugh at the look of pure shock on his face, and apparently I must have looked similar because he dissolves into low giggles too.  
We scramble out together and I grin sheepishly as he pays the driver. Even as we reach the top of the stairs were still laughing and I feel proud that I've cheered him up.  
"Feeling better?" I ask, flopping down onto the sofa.  
"Obviously," he hangs his coat up and sits down next to me, leaning in close. "I missed you."  
"I missed you too."  
Pause.  
"I love you."  
"I love you too."  
And with that we lean together once more to resumed were we left off.

* * *

**this fic is for my good buddy Bryony, metalicar-parked-at-221b on tumblr. x**


	13. A Love Like War

**Heart's on fire tonight**  
**Feel my bones ignite**  
**Feels like war, war**  
**Feels like war, war **

**A Love Like War - Don't Panic: It's Longer Now**

So this is slightly racier than i normally right, nothing explicit and tbh most people would still class it as fluff but feel free to skip this one if intense make out sessions with a _tiny _hint at more is too much for you :) I just had to write this because it's based on the BRAND NEW SONG ARSYKSRDRURSTYTRUKESRETUYK! sorry i'm just very excited. anyways, this is for my home girl Bryony (metallicar-parked-at-221b on tumblr) because she's great x

enjoy :)

* * *

From the moment our lips touch it feels like war. All the tension of the past week building to a glorious climax. Hands meeting in popcorn buckets, shoulders brushing around dead bodies, eyes snapping back to the floor when the other glanced round. And the way he looks at me... his eyes are so warm and comforting yet I feel a chill run through me every time. I'm painfully lost, a proper deer in the headlights. It's almost like its the lie that's intoxicating me, the lie that I'm asexual and not interested, the lie that he's an 'ordinary' heterosexual doctor who'd never be asking for his own purposes. I've been running from my own unnerving desire but it's very hard to hide it when we're around each other so much. But i told myself it wouldn't work, it couldn't work. I don't do relationships, and as far as I know he doesn't do men. To try and act upon my... _feelings_ would be nothing but trouble.

It started as a normal evening in 221B, I was busy with my experiment into production of saliva, John was typing away - infuriatingly slowly - on his laptop. But that was the end of normality.  
I dont really know how it happened, maybe it was the influence of his alcohol and my nicotine but suddenly he's right next to me, breathing down my neck.  
"What you measuring?" he asks innocently.  
"Production of saliva." I answer, only afterwards realising I probably should have added 'after death'. Is it my imagination or did he consciously lick his lips at my words.  
"Can I help..?"  
What am I supposed to say to that? I mean I may be inexperienced but, considering the looks he's been giving me all week, i think that's an invitation. I turn slowly and am shocked at how close he is.  
I honestly dont know what to do, so I just say "I don't know..." my pulse is elevating, I can hear it so clearly if I didn't know better I would have said John probably could too. I can see his pupils dilating though, and I know what that means. We probably stand staring for only a few seconds, but it feels like hours.  
Then my brain finally gets itself together and proposed another, very different experiment. And I kiss him.

It's barely anything, practically chaste. I didn't expect him to reciprocate, I thought if anything I'd be pushed away and shouted at; no way in hell would I have expected to grab my shirt collar and kiss me back.

I suppose he must have been fantising about it too because there is nothing shy or wary about this, I'm almost knocked backwards by the force. The small of my back is digging painfully into the table but righ now my mind is occupied elsewhere.  
"This... is ok... right?" John asks breathlessly between kisses. _Of course it is_ I think, _I started it didn't I?_ So I don't give him a verbal answer, just raise my hand to cup his face and kiss back harder.

As his hands slide off my collar and down my chest I feel his tongue playing at my lower lip, tracing the outline. I barely even hesitate to grant him access. Oh god. I've always thought the very idea of sticking ones tongue in another persons mouth is absurd and disgusting, but it all makes sense now. When he flicks his tongue upwards against mine I get an almost electric shock and can't help but let out a moan. I know this is very new to me, and I never thought I could be so easily submissive, but despite my inexperience I know I will let him do whatever the hell he wants as long as he keeps kissing me like that.

The table is pressing right on my spine as he pushes himself onto me, deepening the kiss. His palms slide down to my lower abdomen, applying what would have been the perfect pressure if it wasn't for the edge of the damn table. He must have sensed my discomfort because the next time he surfaces for air he asks concernedly "what is it?"  
"Table..." I breath, so close I'm almost talking into his mouth.  
He must have been relieved that I wasn't having second thoughts because he relaxes slightly, then wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me. Getting the idea I place my hands on the edge and push to raise myself up, but he does most of it. God, I mean I know he was a soldier and I know I hardly weigh much but I wouldn't have guessed he'd be that strong. I cant deny he apparent ease with which he can pick me up turns me on...

Now that I'm sitting on the mercifully not petri-dish cluttered table the height gaps even bigger than normal, he's standing on tiptoe and his hand is around the back of my neck, pulling me down. I realise i don't want him to be this far away from me: apart from our lips we're hardly touching. So now it's my turn to grab the collar of his heinous jumper and lean back onto the scratched wood, pulling him with me. It doesn't take him more than a few seconds to understand. His hands leave my neck and start snaking up my sides under my shirt, gripping tightly as he pulls himself up on top of me. His fingernails dig into my skin like shark teeth, probably leaving marks but I don't care. I never thought I'd be a 'pain with pleasure' person but the way he starts to scrape down my shoulder blades sends a shiver running down my spine, like my whole vertebrae is igniting.

He's managed to climb up too now, swinging one leg over so he's straddling my hips. The table isn't really built for two grown men and although I don't see it collapsing since it manages to hold all my papers, I don't think even John is short enough to lie widthways across it. The force with which he's kissing me now is almost forcing me backwards, soon my head is hanging off the surface and lolling to one side, exposing my pale neck. He dives.

Soft lips that were seconds ago pressed against mine are now making their way along my jawline. Then they slowly move down to plant barely kisses underneath my jaw; he's savouring it. His tongue brushes ever so slightly against my adams apple as he moves even further down. Down, down until eventually I feel the edge of his teeth scarcely graze my collar bone and he groans and mutters something I can't distinguish, but from the way his lips move against my skin I think he's saying my name.

I never would have even imagined it would get to this point, even in my extremely secret non existent fantasies it never went further than me being brave or stupid enough to kiss him. I'd thought it was me alone who had these ridiculous feelings, me alone who had such insane urges; turns out he does too. Which is good because I never would have acted otherwise. I may not know much about social expectations, but I know you can't just grab someone and throw them down on a table. We go together or we don't go down at all.

His fingers start running through my hair, curling into my ringlets and clenching back on themselves, tugging at my usually overly sensitive follicles but for once I'm not crying out with pain. Again, I feel his nails against my scalp but, again, I don't care. I snake my own fingers up inside his shirt as he did before, feeling each rib bone until I reach his shoulders.

It's just us, just the two of us against the rest of the world. I've blocked out the rest of the noise and bustle of the city, closed my eyes against the mess of the flat, it's just us. He's all i hear, feel, smell, taste. And why would I want my senses to be filled with anything but John? I'm finally getting to experience what I've desired for a long time, I finally get to be intertwined with the man I love. Yes, love. I think I've known for a while, but I was pushing it down because I knew it was a terrible idea. Then again, he _is_ kissing me back...

He surfaces once more and grins breathlessly down at me. I smile back, almost disbelievingly, this still all seems unreal. Then, withdrawing my hands from his shirt, I place my palms on his chest and start fiddling with the buttons.  
"Really?" he seems unsure, but I think it's more that he's concerned that its going to fast for me, rather than himself having doubts.  
I simply nod, already having worked my way down half of the buttons, exposing part of his tanned torso. In answer he issues a low chuckle and leans in again. My lips are already parted this time in readyness, but just as he gets close enough for me to feel his breath, such a minuscule distance that I'm sure he's teasing, he stops. I let out an soft whine, like a child whos had their favourite toy taken away, but by now he's snapped up away from me. The insecure virgin part of me worries that I've done something wrong and for a split second I panic that I've ruined everything.  
Then I here the voice of our landlady drifting up the stairs (despite our thankfully closed door), "boys, you've got one downstairs!"

"Fuck..." John whispers, climbing hurriedly down from the table and starting to redo his buttons. "Just a minute Mrs Hudson!" Catching on, I scramble upright, straightening my shirt and desperately trying to flatten my hair. As an after thought I pull a few papers over the table so it doesn't look as conspicuous. John opens his laptop and leaves it on his chair as of he'd been sitting there moments before. Catching each others eye, we dissolve into giggles. As I stride over to answer the door, he grabs my arm and asks "later?"  
"Later." I agree, leaning down to plant a small kiss on his forehead. He smiles sheepishly and let's go of my arm, falling back as if we're still just friends. Smirking, I reach out to open the door, mind for once far from this potential case. As I let in our possible client I'm not thinking about the stains on his cloths or what sort of crime he's going to bring to my attention, but about the prospect of a perfect later.

* * *

**hope you enjoyed :) please review guys because this isn't my usual style and i want to know thought because i'd like to write more.**


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